


Monthly Visitor

by Grimmy88



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rochelle visits at an inopportune time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monthly Visitor

            Emerging from the bathroom, and formerly from the shower, with a towel around the waist wasn’t usually a qualm for the southern mechanic. After all, he lived alone and it wasn’t exactly as if he were dripping everywhere.

            This very towel-wearing experience, however, was proven to be the wrong ensemble. Although if Nick, who was sitting on the hand-me-down couch his mother had donated to his apartment, was put off by it, he doesn’t express it.

            He isn’t smiling and his face was pale save for the sharp juxtaposition of the rings surrounding his eyes.

            Ellis just places his fingers around the knot in his towel and crosses to the kitchen so he can offer his guest a beer.

            Of course the term ‘guest’ isn’t exactly correct when referring to his former teammate. It couldn’t be when more than half of his home’s rent was paid, promptly, from the gambler’s earnings.

            Nick takes the bottle from him and doesn’t comment when Ellis sits down beside him in only that towel. They drink in silence and it was enough to indicate that the last month of his disappearance had been a bad one.

            That’s how it went sometimes: the intervals between his visits, which consisted of once every month and rarely twice, could be more often than not good or overwhelmingly bad.

            Ellis didn’t know where he went at those times but he did know why. The older man’s activities were predictable, known, even if he’d never really asked what they entailed: he left to have women, alcohol, and above all else he left for money.

            That was how he had spent his time before the apocalypse and he’d made it very clear in camp that if things were ever to possibly return to normal so too would his old habits.

            What hadn’t been so clear was the night, in their small tent, when they had brought each other off with the palms of their hands. The shame that had situated upon his shoulders for the next two weeks had been like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he’d accidentally shot one of the neighbor’s cats with a pellet gun when he was ten.

            Even more confusing was that, given all that embarrassment, he had still let Nick touch him again on the third week and then two days later he traded a very bad blowjob for one in return.

            He remembered feeling pleased that at least the older man was as new at such relations as he was.

            After a while it became routine; they would rub each other, or suck, and it was as normal as anything else had become in that camp. And when that makeshift home dissolved a year and a half after they’d been rescued, it was a routine that continued, rarer than before but constant.

            Ellis had never been able to explain that and so he’d done in with trying to reason it out. In the end it came down to two facts: Nick would show up and Ellis would let him in.

            It went on like that for two years and for a grand total of thirty-seven visits which could range from only a couple hours to a good portion of the week. What made those visits more degrading than they probably should’ve been was the face that the first year of them happened within his childhood home where he had moved back in with his mother. And although she’d never asked or complained, in her gaze it was evident that she was aware of the situation, even if she couldn’t understand it.

            Sometimes he was thankful that she’d never brought it up. Other times he was angrier than anything that they hadn’t discussed it because, even if she was his mother, he knew he needed it brought up. He knew he needed to be asked what the hell he was doing because he refused to address the question on his own.

            But Nick had shown up that first day in Savannah, just like now, and although Ellis hadn’t been wearing a towel, they’d fallen into bed without any reservations or hesitancy.

            It had been the first time they’d actually had full-blown sex. Nick had stayed the next morning, another first, and they’d gotten each other off again that night. But when Ellis woke up sometime later the conman had already left.

            The next time it happened he hadn’t bothered reaching to feel an empty bed space beside him.

            Eventually the combination of Nick’s frequent visits and following sexual demands, his own age, and the fact that somewhere along the blurred line he followed his mother had managed to find a new relationship for herself in a man two years her senior all pushed him to find a place for his own.

            The day he moved out had corresponded with the second visit of that month from the ex-con. They’d christened the apartment while lying on a mattress situated on the floor in the middle of his new bedroom.

            When he woke the next morning there had been a wad of bills left on the kitchen counter ‘to help with rent’ and that had been it.

            So now, this most recent visit, when Nick reaches over and slips the wet knot out of place Ellis lets him.

            Ellis also leads them to the bedroom, lets himself be positioned and taken on his knees, which yes, means Nick had a couple of bad nights before his arrival.

            It’s all the more evident when the younger man wakes up alone with money on the dresser and a note listening the conman’s new cell phone number.

            So Ellis programs it, because why shouldn’t he, and goes to work. And during his break, even though it’s stupid, he sends a text just so Nick could have his number. He knows it’s stupid because he’s never gotten an answer back before so when his phone chirps later as he sits at his mother’s kitchen table, he ignores it in favor of another round of roast beef.

            When he checks later, expecting Keith’s name, he’s admittedly all-too-excited to find Nick’s letters on the illuminated brick.

            The text displayed is a simple ‘thanks’ but Ellis chooses to read into it enough to ask where the felon had gone off to.

            He’s perfectly content to wait for an answer he isn’t sure will come when his mother and then her boyfriend join him in the living room.

            “How’s work?” she asks because she asks every day.

            “Fine,” he replies because he replies the same every day.

            She sips the wine she had brought with her; she’d started drinking it more since Ron came into the picture.

            “Then how’s Nick? Has he stopped by lately?”

            His phone decides to go off then and he smiles at her though it’s not for her.

            The phone reads: ‘Florida.’

            Ellis says, “Yeah, he left sometime this mornin’, though.” And when she waits, silent, the inner rim of her lips dying deep like the liquid in her glass after she takes a sip he lies as his fingers fly. “He stayed fer-a couple-a days before he had’ta go.”

            His cell boldly asks the gambler when he’s going to come back. His mother asks the same thing.

            Ellis tells her he doesn’t know and, later, his phone vibrates and he finds it’s the truth because the message that reads ‘visiting Savannah in 2 weeks!!’ isn’t from Nick but Rochelle.

 

            When Nick does come back, only two weeks into his usual hiatus, Ellis is just getting off a particularly bad day at work. He’d had things spilled on him and a car that flat-out proved pointless to fix and for sharing that knowledge—“really, sir, yer juss gonna be comin’ back again an’ again’ta keep fixin’ her so it’s better in the long run”—he’d gotten screamed at, degraded, and berated in front of everyone.

            To top it off he’d forgotten his lunch.

            There weren’t many things that could steal the wind from Ellis’ sails but being denied of food and respect concerning something he knew he was damn good at were on the top of that mental list.

            So he doesn’t think much of charging into his own apartment or kicking his boots off with as much energy he can spare at the patched couch—not the wall, he doesn’t want to ruin the wall and have to paint it.

            It must tickle Nick the right way though because he does think as much of it to offer a slow, pulled smile that crinkles lines under his eyes. This all means his day was much better than the southerner’s.

            Ellis doesn’t return the smile nor can he find it in himself to make an attempt of bashfulness.

            The conman turns a little more from his seat at the table and taps his hand on the neat, white boxes he’s set out beside him. “There’s fried rice, if you’re interested.”

            Then Ellis smiles and it’s that easy to lift his mood. He doesn’t care to dwell on that fact, or give thanks, or announce how nice it is that the older man knew his work schedule; they just eat and space chewing with moments of voice.

            The hick attempts to use the chopsticks as per Nick’s instructions but the wood isn’t responsive and even when he does finally get it the amount of food he can pick up is so small that he switches to a giant spoon just so he can shovel it into his mouth faster and abate his gurgling stomach.

            This is all done to the backdrop of Nick’s good humor.

            And really, it’s the best mood his fellow survivor had ever been in around him so he was hesitant to stop the stories that were pouring out.

            Finally, Nick tells him to shower.

            Ellis agrees because he can feel how matted his hair is. “How come ya didn’t text me thatchyou were comin’ back?”

            The other man rolls his neck but doesn’t get angry like Ellis expects. He just rubs the side of his nose with two fingers and then shrugs. “I didn’t know it was going to be this soon.”

            “Oh, well, I don’t care,” the redneck hurriedly explains. Really, his statement could’ve been seen as accusatory and he certainly hadn’t meant it to be. “Youkin come all you want, I mean, yer payin’ more fer this place than me an’ I’m the one who’s always here. Youkin stay longer, too, if ya want. Don’t gotta be rushin’ out all the time.”

            He looks up when Nick says “okay” without a smirk or marring lines on his face.

            Ellis goes to shower unsure if the admittance had any effect, unsure of what effect he had wanted in the first place.

            His hair and body are soaped and rinsing when the bathroom door opens. He can see Nick undress through the cloudy plastic of the shower curtain and he almost laughs when they try to position both of their bodies in the cramped, wet area.

            He does laugh when Nick leans in and kisses him and they both lose their footing to just barely catch themselves against steamed tiles.

            And he should be annoyed that their first attempt at a shower make-out is a failure, but their mouths are curled into one another and that’s good, even if, when Nick turns him and rubs against the area encompassing the back of his thighs, their too-close-heights prevents them from going any further.

            What they don’t accomplish in the shower, though, is always a sure thing in bed. This time Ellis is on his back and there are two slick fingers in him, moving together and then opposite. Nick’s mouth is on his, they’re molded together to facilitate it, so the shame he might’ve felt from such touching is repressed as he can only focus on the lips insistent upon his.

            Nick rolls on a condom he’s retrieved from the dresser and takes up their lube again. Ellis squirms on his back to get comfortable, gets laughed at for it, but they fall into a position similar to the one they had adopted, with the gambler’s arms against his ribs so that his legs are free beneath them and splayed outwards so that his lover’s furred torso can be as close to him as possible.

            For good measure he wraps his legs around the slick back, from sweat or shower water, he doesn’t care.

            And it’s like their mouths need to fasten every few thrusts and surges so Ellis pushes past the strain in his neck to smack the bottom of their faces together. When their teeth catch on the last try Nick holds him down by the forehead and slips into his mouth for so long that the mechanic lies there afterward feeling his lips swell.

            Then Nick’s pushing in and then dragging his hips around.

            He whispers, “feel good? Because _you_ feel good.” And he circles his wet grip on Ellis’ cock and runs it back and forth until the slick smacking of skin and liquid entwines with the windfalls of their breaths.

            And when their undulating, rolling so close together and on each other and in each other, escalating higher and Ellis locks his arms to keep Nick locked as well the door buzzer rings.

            Their pause is immediate but when no repeated noise comes until the older man attempts to roll his hips again.

            Ellis was going to tell him to ignore it, they were close enough to ignore it, but Nick pulls out to sit back on his haunches. The buzz sounds again and they both glower at the open bedroom door even though it isn’t the offender.

            “Go tell them to fuck off,” Nick orders.

            The hick dons his boxers, and grabs a towel which he bunches at his crotch for good measure, and pats out to open the door just enough so he can peek out at his visitor.

            Rochelle smiles at him, a bag at her feet and one at her back.

            And, yeah, now he remembers, he had said two weeks. And he’s standing there wet, red, and no less excited than he’d been five minutes ago. But he lets her in, forgetting the English language until she demonstrates it for him.

            “Who’ve you got back there? Don’t tell me you actually found that Zoey girl!” She says the sentences high, her voice peaked after she takes in his appearance.

            She sits on the couch and Ellis manages to make some indiscriminate noise at her that she must take to mean ‘hang on.’ When he turns to run back to the bedroom, however, the door is open and Nick’s there, at least in boxers, but he’s there nonetheless.

            And then he and Rochelle make eye contact and he’s gone. She makes some sound but Ellis follows the conman to the bathroom where he had left his clothes to find him donning them.

            “I forgot,” Ellis blurts. There’s no answer so he tries again. “She ain’t stayin’ long; you don’t hafta go.”

            Nick buttons up his shirt. “Fronting questions isn’t my idea of a good time right now, Ellis.” His brows are furrowed and they cause harsh lines in the space between them.

            “You were fine,” Ellis protests because if Nick was allowed to get mad he might as well channel all the bad things from earlier that day into the current moment. “You were laughin’ an’ we were fine. You came back early. What the fuck?”

            Nick levels their gazes so Ellis repeats his question and then adds more words: “You don’t wanna stay ‘cause-ya can’t answer her questions. What the fuck, Nick? Why don’t you stay?”

            There are a lot of possible answers, Ellis knows; Nick hates Savannah, Nick liked to travel, Nick liked to make money, Nick liked being on his own. But Nick gives none of those as answers.

            He does let Ellis grab his arm to stop him one more time, though.

            “She’s only stayin’ fer two or three days,” the hick tells him. “You don’t hafta leave town. Youkin stay in-a hotel ‘til she leaves.”

            Then he lets Nick go and the elder man does without a word to him or Rochelle.

            Ellis manages to shower her to the guest room before leaving her to her own devices because he finds he doesn’t want to leave the sanctuary of his room for the rest of the night.

 

            Rochelle stays for two days and within that time span she never mentioned what she saw. So they went to see Coach and their former leader welcomed them to his house, a big, white thing with a nice picket fence, a wife, and two dogs running around his yard.

            His wife was a plump, happy woman, perfect for Coach as far as the other two survivors were concerned. They eat hamburgers and hotdogs and drink beer, and pointedly nobody brings up Nick. Hell, Ellis could barely meet Coach’s eyes upon first arriving for fear that Rochelle had already discussed the topic of his and the conman’s turbulent ‘relationship’ with him.

            But he didn’t say anything, and neither does Rochelle, even at breakfast the morning of her exit. And while she eats Ellis can’t help but feel angry because, again, he knows somebody should say something to him. He had certainly expected someone to, especially someone female like his mother or Rochelle. One of them were supposed to speak words of wisdom to him about the shit he’d gotten himself into because he couldn’t understand it enough to scold himself.

            But none of it comes and when she leaves in the morning (after refusing a ride from him, stating something about writing off the cab expenses) he squeezes her longer than he might’ve to get her to say something. She squeezes back and kisses his cheek and only says that she’ll text him when her plane lands.

            And she’s halfway down the hallway when she turns back and tells him to call Nick before disappearing into the elevator.

            It’s not much, he knows, but he takes it. But when he picks up his phone he doesn’t get to call Nick. There’s a message waiting:

            ‘Is she gone yet?’


End file.
